


The Seeds We Water

by Deamortem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cannon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Different perspectives, M/M, Progressing Timeline, klance, relationship inlook
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deamortem/pseuds/Deamortem
Summary: A glance through the eyes of those closest to them as the uncertain relationship between Keith and Lance begins to develop on their journey through space.





	1. Allura - Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> Just a kind of perspectives idea I had because I really like the concept of exploring how different people would react to the developing Klance relationship. I don't know how often I'll be able to update with summer exams (chose a really bad time to post this!) but should be pretty regular! It won't be too long so hopefully it's enjoyable!

Allura: Doubt

 

It’s hard for her to describe the feeling that floods her when she thinks of home. It’s a kind of unsettled uncertainty that should have long since passed with the remnants of her lost world. Yet it lingers, filling her with doubt.

Allura likes the usual clarity of her thoughts, the clear view that allows her to strategize and plan and put down her foot in such a decisive manner that no one would dare speak out against her. But ten thousand years in the cryo-pod has changed her and she’s not even sure if that certainty was ever her’s to begin with. The power in her voice that usually rings commandingly now wavers a little with every word. Her decisions seem clouded in the need to satisfy the emptiness in her chest. She isn’t sure if her judgement is reliable anymore.

Doubt in herself.

It hits her as hard as her anxiety attacks in the dead of night, knocks the breath from her lungs and has her almost staggering at the front of her own ship. Because Allura is the princess of Altea but what does that even mean anymore. Altea is gone. A whole planet simply wiped away from the tapestry of the universe as though it had never existed. As though it hadn’t been her world; the one she grew up on and learnt on and _lived_ on, and she’s not her father, but she knows that she cannot abandon his goal as easily as he did.

And maybe it’s just pride that keeps her surging forward. It’s been ten thousand years but she still can’t force herself to give in, can’t admit that her people lost the war. She’d like to call it a greater sense of bravery and justice but she’s not a liar, that much she knows.

Allura’s not the villain, she never will be, but sometimes she wonders if she’s doing the right thing. Here she is, wasting the last years of the youth her father tried so hard to save, drifting through the expanse of space, as though his sacrifice means nothing to her. And she has dragged five humans, children no less, to accompany her. Making them fight as though the state of the universe is their fault, their problem to fix.

Every day it gets harder to swallow back the painful bite of guilt. She’s never aspired to be the perpetrator of anyone else's demise but she knows that if these humans, these paladins, die then their blood will be forever engrained in the grooves of her palms. They never asked for this but here they are. As pilots the group is underskilled and rough around the edges, barely making it through each battle by the skin of their teeth. They need more training, need more reserve and more skill. She might admit that in her heart she doubts her paladins if pressed, yet another thing she can’t be sure of in this new universe.

They aren’t like her father's, the original five who pledged their hearts willingly to Voltron. They aren’t even like those who followed, the countless brave pilots who sacrificed themselves in the hopes that they’d be strong enough to stop the Galra. No, they’re too reckless, too young, too filled with care and she doesn’t even know if they understand everything at stake.

In the back of her mind she imagines them fleeing like fluttering juniberry petals in the wind, eager to return to their own world and fulfil their own lives. She couldn’t blame them if she wanted, couldn’t hate them for craving the same normality that her heart aches for. But she knows she has to have faith in them. Has to believe that they will do the right thing and, when the day comes, finally fill into the shoes of their predecessors.

If she can’t hold that simple trust in them then how are they supposed to trust her?

And maybe she’s afraid of being broken, not wanting to be abandoned once again in the vastness of space with no one to call family and nowhere to call home. Afraid that the universe might really be as cold as it seems. But she knows she can’t let the thought slow her down or hold her back, lest her fear come true, so even with her mind full of apprehension Allura still pushes them. Puts in her all her effort into raising them to be the brave defenders of the universe she knows they’re meant to be.

She watches them grow, overseas the progress and change as they train countless hours to improve for a cause they’ve only just adopted and slowly she realises that they all have the motivation deep down inside that they need to fight. They all have families to worry about and a home to protect and she hopes that if that feeling is as strong as her own was then their resolution to fight will hold firm. The saying from Earth, ‘practice makes perfect’, is often repeated and while she can admit that they get better every day, she still knows it’s not good enough. They’re supposed to be a team but she watches the paladins fight and it’s every man for himself, sprawling and dodging just to avoid the robot, obvious to where the others are in comparison.

So when the gladiator looms over a distracted Lance she’s expecting to see a firm blow from the blunted sword. What she isn’t expecting is the way Keith swoops in, diving down to skid across the floor, hooking Lance around the knees and pulling him with him. They both tumble, skidding out of the path of the gladiators weapon before it can strike and Keith is taking the hit, a hard strike across the back in an attempt to give Lance time to pick himself up.

Allura leans across the control deck, carefully watching the exchange. She follows Keith’s eyes as they flick back to Lance, watches carefully as he gets to his feet and regains his balance, so many of his movements made offhandedly to defend the careless blue paladin (always accompanied by a blunt damning comment). The way he rushes in to fight first, fueled by a hot dedication, the same expression twisted in his brow when he dives in to defend Lance from the short range battle. And maybe it’s just a strategy but she notices Pidge knocked down again and again and yet Lance’s stance is firm under constant shield that is the red paladin.

Allura ends the training simulation.

It almost isn’t a surprise at this point when Keith is the first approaching Lance, filled with an anger born of unmistakeable concern. And then Lance grins, bright and cheeky and ever so warm and Keith just deflates, harboring a small smile of his own as he lingers around the blue paladin.

And Allura watches quietly. She is pensive, lost in a deep sea of thought and when the idea strikes her it happens so naturally that she almost wonders how she hasn’t noticed before. At first it’s a warm fluttering feeling, a kind of excitement on her part to finding something so soft between two people that are nothing but brick walls when they try to talk to each other. And maybe it’s because she hasn’t been looking out for it, wasn’t expecting to see something as fragile as a crush developing in the dissoluteness of space. But now she can’t help but be fixated with eager eyes and a whirring mind as she watches the two and wonders.

She finds herself thinking back, remembering the moments when the two have almost seemed familiar, inevitably ruined in the past by some sense of pride that has stopped either of them from drawing their friendship closer. Keith is fiery, his temper badly contained in his rough edges and his feverish drive unquenchable once committed, but Lance can be almost possessive at times, quick to solidify that Keith is his plaything and his alone to rival and rile-up and ridicule.

She remembers the aftermaths of arguments always ending with one storming off and the other left watching them go, almost regretfully. A longing situation of tension that she has been hesitant to read into because her native customs are honestly too different to compare. How Lance’s attempts at flirting with new species are always shot down by Keith’s withering comments before anyone else. How Keith’s attempts to make new friendships are always suffocated by Lance’s watching presence from over his shoulder. And if she didn’t know better she might have said it was just the jealous drags of their rivalry but she knows Keith and she knows Lance and she _knows_ that while the competing seems to matter to them the personal side of things isn’t a usual occurrence. Trained once as a diplomat, Allura trusts her skills at reading people and now she is sure that she can see the strings of something more between the two paladins. Because underneath all the bickering and brattiness and petty jabs Allura believes she may have stumbled across something more akin to denial and honestly it shakes her. The excitement she felt at first glance plummets and the bud quickly wilts, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

She has sacrificed so much, they all have, and the sudden thought of Voltron, unable to form because of the broken bond left by the ruin of attraction, makes her gut twist in worry. Even as the thought strikes her she knows she can’t ask, can’t tell them that space is not the right environment to nurture the seed of love. And she doubts it’s even got that far, that they wouldn’t just face her with the same denial they seem to face each other with, but she can’t sit by watching as new roots work their way into the foundation of the team and force it to crumble.

Allura has to know, has to be certain that she isn’t misinterpreting. So when she sees Keith walking down the corridor it’s like her body springs into action without her better judgments approval. She lets him pass her and then she just stops, knowing that her silence will snap his good senses and draw his pace to a close.

“Keith,” She speaks his name loud enough to draw in a tight silence around them, “That dive you performed was impressive, sacrifice is something very valuable to the team. I hope to see more of your improved combat training in the future, though perhaps without the risk of your own well being, funny the consequence should be for Lance of all people.”

He is silent and she knows she’s dug too deep, shovel sinking into a soft nerve that she only meant to graze. Her voice, which should have sounded inquisitive, leaves her lips rough, almost accusingly, and Allura wishes to snatch back her angry words as soon as she’s spoken them. But Keith gracefully doesn’t rise to it, doesn’t snap or shout like he might have a few months ago. Instead his answer comes slowly accompanied by the huff of a forgiving sigh.

“We all need something to fight for.” His words hold no malice, merely a resolute statement that could mean anything, a reference to family or friendship or something more or perhaps even just simple humanity, she can't be sure. It’s vague and unexpected but it strikes her warmly. Firm words that she can trust in because there is no doubt in Keith’s voice. He’s opened up questions that she knows could be solved with the simple turn of her head. Because maybe if she faced him he’d be wearing his usual nonchalant expression. Maybe his brows would be scrunched up in confusion as he sought out an answer to her question. Or maybe, just maybe, she might find the soft touches of a blush lingering on his cheeks.

He doesn’t wait for her to check as he excuses himself and Allura feels hers doubts drain away, still stuck by the definity of his answer.

And she’s certain he doesn’t understand the meaning of his own words, it’s probably too soon for that. He’s probably still kicking himself for the the way his behaviour is changing towards Lance, still wrapped up in his head, and Allura is fine to leave things like that. Their spark is too new and too bright, no where near the roaring inferno it might grow to be. There’s every possibility that the heavy footsteps of war might stamp it out but she supposes she’ll have to wait and see. Because the honest possibility that it might thrive is also one that she’ll have faith in.

Allura can’t help the small smile that creeps onto her lips as she leaves down the corridor. Where she has imagined heartbreak leaving an ugly scar on the team Keith has installed a visage of devotion, the kind of bond that she has never imaged would form between paladins. Something new and pure and gentle in a universe that has nothing but darkness and fear and it leaves a small bulb of hope in her heart, that perhaps these roots will twine around their foundation and make it stronger than ever has been. Perhaps something new and something different won’t be a bad thing. Her paladins aren’t like her father’s, or those who followed. Her paladins are reckless and young and filled with more care than they’d wish to admit.

And maybe, she thinks, it’ll be nice to see them blossom into something beautiful that she’ll never have doubt in.


	2. Red - Passion

Red: Passion

 

She chooses him because she likes his fire.

It beckons to her with every action he makes; the thoughtless way he leaps into battle for her, the haphazard swipes of his bayard flashing across her view, the relentless angry determination that leaves him in waves. She knows immediately that he’s right and when he pushes the airlock, lets himself be be pulled towards the infinite abyss of space with those wide, determined eyes, she knows he is her paladin.

Red hasn’t felt this way in a long time, not since the days of her original pilot who flew her as though she were a mere extension of his own body. But she had been built for him, her own personality formed to complement his and they had resonated like no others, their flight sequences intense and coordinated, their battles wild and exhilarating.

She had truly mourned the day he passed away.

Those who followed, the desperate and the angry, who take to her helm with honest bravery and the will to fight, are pale imitations of her paladin. She is passed from pilot to pilot, none of whom she accepts easily and all of which are unable to form any connection to her. To them she is machinery, a ship of war or a weapon to be used merely for battle and slowly the excitement of meeting new creatures to pilot her dwindles to a smouldering caution.

And when she can no longer accept those who can’t match her nature she is decommissioned, sent to rest on a silent world far from the reaches of those she knows will try to use her. She has always understood her purpose, always been aware of the importance of her desertion, and yet as the rough dirt beneath her feet freezes over with snow and the light from the far off sun begins to die she cannot help the questioning thoughts that let her wonder why she waits.

She yearns to leave, knowing that that thought is reckless and irresponsible, an idea that both excites her and goes against every thread of her moral programming. But without a pilot she is incomplete and the thought of flying alone seems impossible. It is that and the ingrained sense of loyalty to her creators that keeps her feet firmly still.

Red has waited a long time when the Galra finally find her, dormant and patient on the abandoned planes where she was placed, ever watchful as the universe around her falls into chaos and disorder at the final topple of Altea. Filled with a mellow indignation for those who left her forgotten. And she can do nothing but put up mild resistance in the form of an old barrier as they cart her away to their ship.

So when he bursts through the doors, a single man in the midst of an empire that has already won the war, with nothing more than the will to take her away from her prison of solitude, she is hesitant. He wears the uniform she remembers so iconically of paladins passed and he speaks as though he knows her, but still she remains silent, adamant on the principle that he must first prove himself. She has waited too long to merely give in to the first pilot who is presented. But with the flame in his eyes he presents himself to her like no other and she knows that after ten thousand long years she has finally found another paladin who is meant for her. Keith Kogane is to pilot Red.

She doesn’t doubt him, is willing to humor his naive inexperience with space travel and to support his hesitance at learning to trust her. She has already found her faith in him and Red knows it will not fail her. He on the other hand seems more cautious, opening up slowly and dipping his toe into their connection before he dives in to try and bond with her. Yet he makes that leap and for her he tries harder than with any living being and she fills him with appreciation for that.

Their bond is strong, a firm connection that runs bone deep between them, intertwining their fates and their futures until they are insync and she feels his every heartbeat. His thoughts resonate through her, feelings flush her circuits with gentle caresses or rushing torrents of emotion, the swings as uncontrollable as her own free-spirit. And she loves it, loves being a part of something more than just the piece of machinery that was left behind ten thousand years ago to rust.

She trusts him, trusts him to fly her and to guide her and to make the right decisions as to when to use her. Knows that he will only ever aim her weapons in the name of good, even if his decisions can be rash and that he will fly her proudly as a warrior and not just a soldier. She opens herself up to him and in turn he loosens his guard, their minds melding in a way that fills her with the experience of being _alive_ even through her metal husk.

Red learns things about him, things that he can’t even begin to imagine. All of his secrets spill out into her, stray thoughts and lost memories filling her up like an overflowing cup, tumbling silently between them without his notice. Things he cherishes, things he worries about, things he’s done that he wants to forget. No one else need ever know, she’s only there to sooth his distant feelings, keep them stable and open him up to fight like she knows he can. So she takes the burden from him, lifts the weight from his shoulders if only by the reassurance that he is never alone in his problems. Not truly.

And She knows Garla blood thrums through his veins, but to her it’d never matter. He is her pilot, a perfect match in his accomplished skill and heated attitude, and there is nothing else she needs to know to respect him. The things that he worries about aren’t controversies to her, his personal life in all its specifics not something she spends her time considering, after all it is his nature that draws Red to him.

That isn’t to say that she doesn’t delve into his emotions when they rush through her panels in the heat of battle or the lazy lower atmosphere fights they take on new worlds. They make the bond stronger, tighten the connection and forge new bridges between them. It is times like these that she treasures. When he takes her out to the surface of a new world with only the the intention of spending more time with her in an attempt to _know her_ like none of the pilots before him. Days like this that he flies her so eagerly in an effort to let go of all of his problems for if only a few hours.

He is all instinct. He lets her dip and drop and dive between the blue clouds as easily as he breathes, fingers shifting with precision over her controls and gaze fixed at the orange sky that stretches out before them. It is their sky, clear and cool and seemingly endless, they fly through it undisturbed and unrivaled, a small break from the raging war that continues outside the reaches of the planet's atmosphere. And she’d been stuck stationary for so long but flying like this, carefree and casual, makes her whole system hum. She feels his excitement, the way he floods with adrenaline as they soar and how he truly loses himself in the feeling of flying as they freefall.

Red is so absorbed that she barely notices the soft buzz off consciousness as the blue lion pulls up beside her through the clouds. It’s movements are a little jerkier, it’s engines slower, and yet it holds a lighter presence. It is a welcoming sight.

And she vaguely remembers the blue paladin of old who once flew beside her, but the man who pilots her companion now is different, his voice blaring over the coms with a liveliness that she doesn’t expect from her polar opposite. He is brash and loud and eager to earn her paladins approval under all the backhanded comments and harsh jabs. He works hard to rile him up and grind his nerves and lure him in with the temptation of competition and of course it always works, but never with the anger she has come to expect from her pilots.

No there is something much more fond in the heated rivalry that breaks the tranquility of her flight.

Red gives her paladin total control, trusts his skills because truly she is a mere instrument at times like these, proud to be a part of the symphony she knows the two beings will create. They call it a race, set the guidelines with poorly hidden warmth to their eagerness but she can see through their words, taste the intent as they speed across the horizon.

It’s a dance, the careful threading of two performers who twist and turn around each other like fish in the ocean. And though it is her hull that the wind wraps around, her feet that graze the waters surface, her eyes that see the lush green forests, she knows she is merely an observer. The real melody sways between the two pilots, too careful and tentative in their actions despite how their voices roar with a competitism that is too wild to reign in. They are all masks and theatrics, building up walls around them and running each other in circles.

They weave a tapestry across the sky; one of jet trails and taunts and racing heartbeats that she knows will be wiped away long before anyone else can observe them. They braid and wind and flit around each other like moths to a flame, desperate and cautious and overrun with blinding revelry as they bathe in their freedom and youth. Red knows that her paladin has already tested the waters, that soon he will be ready to dive into the depths of his own mind and trust in the feelings he finds. For now though she enjoys the novelty of new bliss.

And she feels her paladin hold back a little, knowing full well that he could steam ahead and inch by inch gain the lead needed to win. That he could quench his thirst for victory with a simple shift of gears. Instead she knows he prefers to wait, to bask in the thrill of running neck and neck with the blue paladin and call back at his odd phrases through the radio with his own teasing tone, dragging the race out as long as possible.

He swells with affection, taking every loop with the same impulsiveness that he serves to life and managing to maintain his amused comebacks over the rush of the wind and his own tangle of emotions. He laughs under his breath, grins silently and hangs on ever battered word that comes through his earpiece. Never losing his concentration he finally begins to pull ahead, the excitement peaking with the heated shouts and driving the two competitively to a crescendo.

Her paladin wins of course, proud and pleased and relishing in the tone of frustration he draws from the other pilot. He grins, lets out a whoop, and she feels the rush of his blood, of excitement and desire and of truly having enjoying the moment, flood through her.

And she feels alive.

Their game doesn’t easily end, the quiet quickly filled with playful bickering and promises of rematches that keep the embers in his chest stoked. And Red loves how he burns, loves the simmer of his heart and the frenzy of emotions that course through him so vividly at times like these. She sees him interact with many others, feels his discomfort and concern, his joy and humor. She feels his closeness to the black paladin, understands his friendship with the yellow, knows his respect for the green. But none of them draw the same response as the blue pilot.

He is the only one who can ignite her paladin like this, so drastically different from the seething anger when they charge into battle. This emotion is softer and more welcome and _warm_ , yet it rages like all the others, so intense and bright that she feels like she could set the sky alight with the fire he charges through her systems.

And the blue paladin who orchestrates these emotions like a conductor with no clue of the power in his hands has so easily become their match, the flint that lights them and drives them and encourages them to work harder and be better. Forcing that feeling of warmth into her paladin, he pushes them to new levels.

She hesitates to call it love, the feeling far too wild to ground itself in the roots of her paladins heart. Yet there is something; something strong and fiery and consuming. And after so many pilots who only felt the fever of anger, the burn of passion is something more temperamental and uncontrollable than anything she could have ever indulged in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd put in a few of the lions perspectives since I really like the idea of them all having different personalities and Red was so involved in season 2 when it came to how Keith felt. Anyway I hope you liked it and the next chapter is already underway!


End file.
